


Coffee Up!

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/F, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard isn't sure what she's doing at special forces school. It hasn't been that long since she lost her entire company at Akuze. The prickly NCO they've paired her with seems to have a chip on her shoulder about a mile wide. Things between them come to a head when they have to run a coffee shop for the day. Since when is making the perfect espresso a valuable skill for an N7 commando, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Up!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Burning_Nightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/gifts).



“Recruits!” barked Staff Lieutenant Jimenez. “At my command, you will remove your blindfolds. Remove blindfolds!”

Shepard eased her bandanna up from her eyes and blinked blearily. She wasn't too sure about this new development. There had been surprises before, of course, but none so obviously telegraphed by accessories. So far, special forces training had involved its fair share of curveballs, proper tests of their resourcefulness, but most had fallen within the martial realm. This was something rather different. This was a coffee shop.

Riley was already in motion, slipping her hand from Shepard's shoulder, scanning the perimeter and tallying the exits. Shepard spurred herself into action too, keenly aware of Jimenez's beady eyes evaluating their every move. Rather than duplicate Riley's efforts, she headed behind the counter to investigate.

The service area was dominated by a pair of chromed beasts that reminded Shepard of the engine rooms she'd seen in old naval vids, although these were a lot shinier. The heroic submarine captains had had to contend with ancient steam tech that had put reliability before appearance. Yet the engines always seemed to blow a gasket at the worst possible moment.

“What do you have, LT?” asked Riley.

Although they were supposed to disregard rank during the training program, Riley had a chip on her shoulder the exact size of Shepard's extra stripes. From what Shepard could tell, Riley was upset that she'd had to grind her way up through the ranks the hard way to gunnery chief. Shepard understood. It must have been galling to have a green pup forced on you as training partner. Particularly one that now outranked you due to 'conspicuous heroism'. Everyone knew what that really meant. 'Last man standing'.

“Two antiques,” Shepard replied, carefully. She wouldn't be drawn into Riley's game if she could help it. “Strangest looking coffee machines I ever saw.” Despite the antagonism boiling under the surface, they clearly made good training partners. Shepard's cautious approach had saved her neck a few times already. And Riley's quick thinking had paid off more than once too. “Nothing unrelated to coffee making activities. You?”

“Back door leads to restrooms and storage,” reported Riley, clipped and efficient. “Piled high with beans. No sign of contraband. Main entrance is locked. Security shutters. Place is clean. Threat level zero.”

"What's this?" Shepard said to herself. She pulled out a slate and tabbed it on. In glorious technicolor pictographs, the nuances of roast and grind, tamp and steam, were detailed in a way that anyone could have followed.

Riley joined her at the counter. "According to the sign, this place opens in ten," she said. She glanced over at the slate. "So what do you think?"  
It was uncharacteristic of her to ask Shepard's opinion. Riley was intensely competitive and preferred to act on her own instincts. To hell with it. "Zero threat, zero value targets. So it's not a smash or a grab. I guess we'd better learn how to make coffee."

Riley was already fastening a sky-blue apron around her waist. It went nicely with her eyes. It was embroidered with a snooty Salarian sipping delicately from a tiny cup. She glanced over at where she'd picked it up. Another one lay folded there. So she'd reached the same conclusion and she'd been distracting Shepard to get a head-start and... that bitch. The other apron was a dusky pink.

"Oh, don't you look adorable?" teased Riley as Shepard reluctantly slipped the apron over her head. "It really goes with your complexion. Here." She passed her a matching pink cap. "Can't have hairs in the brew, LT."

Riley kept her blonde fuzz trimmed short. Combined with her wiry frame and cool blue eyes that bulged a little, she looked like she was permanently wound tight. Now that Shepard was an officer, she was allowed to grow her hair out a little. She thought longer hair concealed her immature features better. She was sure that if she hadn't been tall and heavily muscled, she'd have been teased a lot more. As it was, Riley was the first in a long while to pass comments about her appearance. Shepard knew Riley was doing it to unsettle her, but part of her appreciated the compliment anyway. She didn't quite know how to express the respect she'd acquired for Riley in a way that the other woman wouldn't find condescending. She'd already learned a lot from Riley’s example. Shepard slipped on the pink hat reluctantly.

“Hey, where'd Jimenez go?” asked Shepard, scanning the coffee shop. Their instructor had made himself scarce. Apparently this was going to be one of those seat-of-the-pants missions without an explicit brief.

Riley was tinkering with one of the coffee machines, cranking open valves and drawing disturbing gurgles and chokes from deep within the tangle of pipework. “Better get your cute little butt in gear, LT,” Riley teased, reaching out to give her a pat on it for emphasis. She didn't give Shepard a chance to protest. “Two of us, two machines, five minutes to opening.” She buried her nose deep in the datapad she'd managed to nab the datapad while Shepard was busy with her apron. 

Annoying as it was, Riley had a point. Shepard busied herself with her own coffee machine. It was really quite logical if you considered it for a moment. There were separate subsystems for roasting the beans, grinding and brewing them. The latter of would be the most critical. There was a chance that old-fashioned tech like this wouldn't have an automatic pressure regulator, but there might at least be safety features in case they cranked the heat up too high...

A high pitched whistle from Riley's machine indicated that she had discovered the over-pressure valve by experimentation rather than deduction. “Oops,” she said, favoring Shepard with a lopsided grin. She cranked a valve a half turn and the noise subsided. Her machine gurgled throatily, it's power held in check for the moment.

The security shutters rolled up automatically at the turn of the hour. They both took in the long, tree-lined boulevard, grey in the early light. Foot traffic was light at this time of day, but there were already a couple of customers waiting patiently outside. One of them was Staff Lieutenant Jimenez, who was first through the door.

Riley could be obnoxiously cheerful at any hour of the day, another talent that NCOs liked to show off gratuitously. “Good morning!” she said brightly. “What'll it be?”

Jimenez had a bad case of drill instructor mouth. In the brief time they'd known him they'd never heard his normal voice. They weren't even sure that he had one. “Double espresso!” he said, his bark probably incomprehensible to the civilians. They probably thought all military people spoke like that.

“Double espresso for the man in uniform!” called Riley, pulling a cup from the rack and handing it to Shepard. Rather than look like an incompetent doofus (or worse, “not a team player”), Shepard gracefully took the cup while Riley busied herself searching for the credit reader and skillfully ignored Shepard's panic.

Shepard didn't have time to be annoyed with Riley's expert deflection of responsibility. One day, that mouth would get Riley into trouble. For now, Shepard ran her hands over the machine and hoped like hell it had been left with a stock of roast. She hit the grinder and prayed. It coughed into life, a shockingly loud noise.

Shepard was a quick study. While she waited for the grounds she located a scoop and the thingy. It wasn't like everything came with a label. The thingy had a hole in the bottom. You filled it with coffee grounds and then wrenched it in place by the handle. Scoop, tamp, wrench. There was a gritty feeling as she yanked the handle, pressing the metal rim up into its housing. She popped it off and cleaned some stray grounds off the rim. It went in much smoother.

Riley had dealt with the credit reader and was watching her like a hawk. Having readied all the pieces and put the cup in place, Shepard faced an embarrassing hunt for the actuator. Riley used her hip to nudge Shepard aside and pulled on the handle that was staring her in the face. “Breaking in the new girl,” Riley explained to Jimenez and the growing line of customers. “You know how it is.”

Shepard coloured at Riley's pantomime of a long-suffering boss but didn't say anything. She took the espresso and served it up with a saucer and spoon. “Coffee up,” she said. “Enjoy,” she added. She'd decided to get into the spirit of the customer-service experience.

“Next!” called Riley.

She was controlling the flow of events again, Shepard noted, just as the Alliance had been teaching them to do in combat situations. Maybe that was one of the points of this bizarre exercise. Except here the enemy was the customer and they couldn't stray too far from their foxhole behind the counter. They'd have to stick to ranged weaponry.

Riley gave her a push on the shoulder. “Wake up, LT,” she said with a knowing grin. “A skinny two-shot latte and a short white filter.”

“Coming right up,” said Shepard. She cranked a valve speculatively and was rewarded with a blast of steam from an auxiliary nozzle. She went into high gear. If Riley was dealing with strategy, running the customers, that left Shepard the tactics. She could organise her work area as she pleased, build up a defensive reserve of grounds, and streamline the workflow for maximum efficiency. It was best to steam the milk right before the espresso was done, for sure. And shit, she should get the drip feed on. Every coffee place she'd ever been to had a big drum of plain filtered coffee for people who just needed a hit without all the fancy bells and whistles. She located a likely looking vessel between the machines. It would take a while to fill. 

“Coffee up!” she called. It was fun watching the customers jump to attention. Keep them on their toes and they wouldn't breach the perimeter. “Skinny two-shot latte!” Shepard busied herself with the espresso in turn.

“Good girl,” said Riley condescendingly as Shepard served up another coffee. She put her palm flat between Shepard's shoulder blades and gave her a quick rub. “Keep it up.”

Shepard felt the tension drain out of her and her focus narrow to immediate concerns. Riley had a way of doing that, inspiring confidence that she would deal with the bigger picture. Shepard remembered their sniper training simulation in the forests of Brazil. A ten-klick jog to the firing position in the wet heat of the jungle had left both of them pumped and sweating buckets. 

Shepard had scoped the target with the long gun while Riley had fed her detail about the bigger picture in the enemy camp. Riley's hand on her back should have been intolerable in the sticky conditions, but Shepard felt it calm her. It reinforced Riley's murmurs in her ear, about force dispositions and sight lines. Her breathing had slowed and she'd just waited for Riley to give her the go, making sure her shot was lined up, not worrying about anything else. She’d felt Riley's hand twitch a moment before she spoke, knew the signal was coming and had half-squeezed the trigger in anticipation.

“Coffee up!” Shepard cried, setting the saucer in front of the eager customer. He lifted it to his lips, sniffed once, and knocked the tiny shot back, his bulging, watery eyes locked on her. Shepard shook her head. It must have been like hot lava on his tongue. Some people would do anything to impress.

“Another,” said the man. 

“There's a line,” she replied. Shepard set her face in the hard mask that usually inhibited any back-chat. She wasn't sure if it made it past the pink apron and hat. 

He didn't move.

“You heard her,” said Riley, leaning over the counter just a little. “End of the line.” 

Shepard would have been intimidated if she'd been on the other end of that stare. She was pleased that Riley had sprung to her defence. But it wasn't like she couldn't have dealt with the guy herself. Riley was treating her like a kid again. The man backed off and reluctantly joined the end of the line. She must be doing something right with the coffee, if he was willing to queue up again.

Since she’d lost her entire company on Akuze, Shepard had felt dull and distant. Growing up an orphan had made her slow to trust but doggedly loyal to her comrades once they'd bonded. And then they’d all been ripped away from her. She’d been cleared for duty by the psych board, but that didn’t mean she was the same person that she used to be. She’d leapt into life as a marine without a backwards glance. In return for giving everything of herself, the Alliance welcomed her to its bosom, fed her, clothed her, and gave her purpose. The best part of all had been being surrounded by people she could trust absolutely.

Until they had betrayed that trust by dying on her, all at once, and she was right back there in the back alleys of Earth, looking over her shoulder with fear, wondering when they would come for her to finish the job. Now pathological focus was possible, dull but intricate tasks were ideal to stop her from over-thinking, but multitasking was hard. She knew she needed to work on that if she wanted to get through special forces school. Riley's beef with her seemed to be that her promotion out of that catastrophic cluster-fuck was undeserved, rather than to lay any blame at her door for being the only survivor. 

The line thinned out as the morning wore on. “Pull me a cup, LT,” said Riley. “This is getting kind of dull.”

“Pull?” replied Shepard, letting her eyebrows rise. “Also, make it yourself.” She refrained from telling Riley that she might be less bored if she did some work.

“Yeah, pull,” Riley said, ignoring Shepard’s protest. “You pull the handle, you get a coffee. Like tending bar.”

“You ‘draw’ a beer, though,” said Shepard. She knew that much.

“Like, make a picture?” Riley didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t buy it, LT. Can you even get served with those cheeks?”

Shepard wasn’t sure what annoyed her more, the fact that Riley didn’t believe her or was making digs about her looks again. Cutting remarks clashed in her head and left her hot-faced and tongue-tied.

“Actually, the regular staff here say ‘jerk’.” Their favourite customer was back, offering them his wisdom and instantly presenting them with a common enemy to rally around. His two cups earlier that day hadn’t perked him up enough to make him interesting, however.

“Only to you, I’ll bet,” muttered Riley as Shepard quickly looked away and pretended to be busy. “What can we jerk you then, sir?”

“Tall skinny triple-shot mocha,” came tripping off his disturbingly mobile tongue. “Please.”

“Coming right up,” Riley replied, intercepting Shepard before she could reach for the machine. “I’ve got this,” she said, her hand on Shepard’s back. 

The customer looked disappointed. “No...” he protested. “Can she do it?” He looked at Shepard’s hunched shoulders. “She’s almost as good as Stacey.”

“Stacey?” asked Riley, turning from her machine to look at him. She activated the grinder just as he opened his mouth and he was forced to raise his voice.

Shepard supposed that Stacey was one of the regular staff who was getting the day off so that they might have this unique experience. “She jerks good coffee!” he shouted.

“Yeah?” replied Riley, bringing out her NCO’s lungs to project her voice through the noise without losing clarity. “And you like to watch?” She bared her teeth in a grin that didn’t have much to do with friendliness.

Shepard looked over her shoulder and saw the man’s gaze tracking her ass before he collected himself. 

“What? No!” He coloured a little with embarrassment. 

They turned their backs on him and let him stew. Shepard swabbed her work area with a dishrag, watching Riley out of the corner of her eye. She had to control her urge to intervene when she saw Riley lock in the grounds with an uneven tamp, and again when she plunged a whistling blast of overheated steam into the milk without swilling the jug at all.

“Coffee up!” Riley presented the man with her first cup of the day. She crossed her arms and leaned out over the counter, grinning menacingly into his face as he lifted the heavy porcelain for a sip. “Good, eh?” she told him, leaving no room for debate. 

His eyes widened and he spluttered a little. “Memorable,” he croaked. “Very.” He backed away from the counter. They watched him find a seat as far away from the service area as he could. He sat with his back to them and contemplated his cup miserably.

“So much for jerked coffee,” Riley said with satisfaction, pulling back from the counter. “Now how about that cup, LT?”

“You want it how Stacey makes it?” Shepard asked with a sarcastic smile. She started the grinder.

“Hell no,” said Riley, bringing her mouth up close to Shepard’s ear so she didn’t have to shout. “I want you to jill me an espresso.”

Riley watched closely over Shepard’s shoulder as she tamped the grounds and set up the cup. Although she was always a physical presence, she didn’t usually crowd Shepard like this. She was too close for comfort, but at the same time all Shepard wanted was the comfort of her touch. Shepard felt her fight-or-flight reflex kicking in, her hands trembling. 

“Hold this,” Shepard said. In a bold move, she took Riley’s hand and placed it on the lever, pulling down to trigger the hot water. For a moment their hands were pressed together. Then she released her own. “Enjoy your coffee. I’ll be right back.” She headed to the end of the counter and ducked into the back. She could feel Riley’s eyes boring into the back of her neck. Her band of her apron chafed against the sweat rising there.

Riley found her in the storeroom a few minutes later, sitting on a sack of beans, her head down and her hands buried tightly in her hair. Shepard didn’t acknowledge her, and Riley didn’t come too close.

“You know, I spoke to your DI.” Riley leaned against the door, arms folded. “Master Chief Kane.” 

Shepard recalled the short dark woman clearly. They said you never forgot your drill instructor from boot. They tended to make an impression. 

“Yeah, that's right, us NCOs run a gossip net just like everybody else,” Riley continued. “Kane told me you used to follow her around like a puppy. Said you loved to show off.”

That wasn't how Shepard remembered it. She'd given everything she had when she was asked, no half-measures. She didn't know how to do anything else. She'd just been glad to be in an environment with clear boundaries that made sense, after the chaos of her childhood. She wanted to forget her past, become a new person, to sweat out all the toxic crud she'd had to do to survive.

It was true that Kane had spent more time with her than the other squirts, but only because she was so far ahead of the rest of them. She'd loved the attention, actually, when Kane was screaming just at her, trying to coax one more push-up out of her. She'd been proud every time she saw that little glimmer of disbelief in Kane's eye that meant she'd exceeded expectations yet again. 

“The eager ones are always trouble,” Riley said. “Give me a dumb farmer with no imagination over a smart-ass like you any day. I’ve got no idea what’s going on in there.” Although her words sounded harsh, they were delivered with the rueful fondness an NCO had for her charges.

Shepard had loved being knocked into shape at basic, working her mind just as hard as her body, unlearning old reflexes and being honed into a fighting machine. It was liberating, letting go of the paranoid survival instincts she’d had to cultivate, learning to trust in her comrades and be guided by her instructors. Once, when they were humping crates across the obstacle course, Kane had descended on her for a little adjustment. Standing stock still, her legs vibrating with the effort of keeping the heavy crate on her shoulder, Kane had grabbed her by the waistband, pushed at her torso and limbs, arranging her how she saw fit.

She’d spent a little bit too long with her palm flat against Shepard's straining abdominal muscles, now that she thought about it, expounding her theory of proper posture and how everything flowed from the core. Talking and talking, knowing that Shepard wouldn't dare interrupt or complain, testing her reserves of strength, her hand pressed firmly against her belly. 

Although Kane couldn’t have known, that event was the catalyst that finally brought Shepard out of her shell. Physical contact was something she’d learned to be wary of; there was no comfort in it when you were alone on the streets. You couldn’t risk letting your guard down. But in the barracks that evening she’d traded stories with another recruit, a skinny colony girl from a fresh frontier world, and they’d bonded over a shared disdain of Kane’s fanciful ideas. Shepard had accepted a challenge to wrestle arms after laughing off Kane’s trials a little too arrogantly. They’d ended up with their whole bodies tight against each other, heaving with all their might, cheered on by their bunk-mates. The colonist made up for her disadvantage in weight with sheer stubbornness. It was the first time Shepard had stopped watching her back and committed fully to the moment. Exhausted and sweaty, arms draped around each other, they’d exchanged life stories.

They hadn’t ended up in the same company. Maybe she was still out there somewhere. She had been Shepard’s way in to the siblinghood of soldiers, a cast with as much variety as you could imagine, freaks and geeks of every stripe and all of them rubbing shoulders, woven tightly together by the bonds of duty. But Shepard hadn’t made any new friends since Akuze. She wouldn’t let herself get burned like that again.

Shepard took her head out of her hands and looked up. Riley relaxed against the door frame, watching her. Since accepting a commission, Shepard hadn't understood what was expected of her. She realized now that she wasn’t just supposed to be following orders anymore. Riley's behaviour, the constant physical interference, the subtle and not-so-subtle digs about her age and inexperience to put her in her place--it was all undermining her confidence, and she didn’t have her cohort to fall back on.

And she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that all she wanted was to melt into someone’s arms and let them hold her up. Her eyes grew shiny.

Riley snorted and rolled her eyes. “Any time you want to get your head out of your ass, LT,” she said. “We’ve got customers, and my coffee goes down like soft fruit through a short volus.” She turned her back and returned to the service area where a small line had formed.

“All goddamn volus are short,” Shepard muttered. She pulled herself together. She could cope with coffee duty. It would keep her from thinking in circles. She could turn her back on Riley and just keep pulling the handle, lose herself in the rich smell of the earthy grounds and sweet steamed milk.

Out of the background noise of the afternoon rush, only Riley’s voice stood out, ringing clear above the press of eager customers.

“Short half-caf skinny mocha!”  
      “Coffee up! Weak no-fat mocha!”  
“Au lait, extra milk! You sure you don’t just want a latte, buddy?”  
      “Coffee up! Café au lait, au lait!”  
“Triple shot, extra hot! And an extra-tall plain filter, let me get that. You want it in an IV bag?”  
      “Coffee up! Hot three-way!”  
“How many times? We don’t serve caffeinated beverages to Salarians. I don’t care if he’s on the logo. No. You want decaf? No? Then move along, there’s a line. Yeah, I’ll get you the manager, how’s next Tuesday? Who’s next? Short Americano!”  
      “Coffee up! Plain Jane!”  
“Double espresso!”  
      “Coffee up! Double shot!”  
“Tall triple shot latte!”  
      “Coffee up! Milky three-way!”  
“Quadruple espresso! But that’s it for you, you’re cut off. Not on my watch, lady!”  
      “Coffee up! Krogan charge!”  
“Tall half-skinny sweet chai... ? No, we only sell coffee, come back when that’s what you want. Next? Back for more? Coffee’s that good, huh? Jerked short skinny two-shot cappuccino!”

Shepard didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that the jerk was back. She could practically feel his gaze boring into her. But it was just another distraction that didn’t make it through her defences. She was in the zone, pulling down shots from two machines, staggering the grinders to keep the noise level up, blocking out the world. She was serving them up almost as fast as Riley could scan credit chips.

Damn, they made a good team. When Shepard, as Riley had pointed out so eloquently, wasn’t lost in her dark thoughts, and when Riley handled strategy and left the tactical work to her... it was an inversion of the responsibilities their respective rank usually implied. But this wasn’t ordinary soldiering, this was special forces school. No doubt Riley was here because she was being fast-tracked for promotion and greater responsibilities.

The coffee shop was a pure test of character, Shepard understood. Take necessity out of the equation, take away mission objectives and consequences for failure. How would the natural equilibrium establish itself without external pressure? And what did it say about her, that she was happy doing all the grunt work while Riley took the lead?

Yeah, Shepard realised. Happy was the right word for it.

“What’re you grinning about, LT?” Riley nudged her. “Jerk the guy his coffee already.”

Shepard chased away her thoughts by starting up the grinder. Her whole body leaned into the tamp as she rose on her toes, controlled power pressing the grounds perfectly flat. The throaty gurgle of the boiler told her everything about the steam temperature and pressure. Her wrist knew just how to twist to get the milk swirling in the jug for that silky smooth foam. It was the perfect cup, the best she’d done all day.

“Coffee up,” she said quietly, locking eyes with the eager jerk.

He raised the cup to his lips and spent a moment letting the vapours fill his nose before taking his first greedy sip. She watched him with her hands spread on the counter in front of him, everything about her stance a challenge. Tears came to the corners of his bulging eyes. He made a choking noise, but didn’t cough anything up. He put his cup down unfinished and hastened away from the counter.

“What, did he burn his tongue?” asked Riley.

“Came in his pants, I think,” Shepard replied flippantly, under her breath so the other customers wouldn’t hear.

“You’ll have to make me one of those,” Riley said drily, catching her eye.

Shepard blushed and turned back to her machines. “Maybe later,” she said. “What’s next?”

Riley looked at her a moment longer. She looked like she was about to say something sarcastic, but then changed her mind. “Americano... with milk? You people are trying my patience today, I swear. No-foam latte!”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, the post-lunch rush blending seamlessly into the noisy mid-afternoon alt-crowd, followed by the exhausted office workers looking for their fix before braving their commute.

“Cover me, LT, I’m going to take a look-see,” said Riley. She made to leave the safety of the counter and headed into the shop proper. They’d left the customers to fend for themselves the entire day and there was a noticeable build up of abandoned porcelain that hadn’t found its way to the autoclaves, but that was about the worst of it. Shepard could only imagine the carnage her old unit would have caused in the same space, hopped up on strong coffee and bored out of their minds. Riley sauntered from table to table, knocking chairs into line and wiping down surfaces. But really, Shepard could see, she was doing recon, checking out the remaining customers, peering none-too-subtly over their shoulders to see what held their attention.

Shepard took the opportunity to clear up a little bit behind the counter. She found a broom and set about sweeping the floor.

“A half-fat decaf mocha, please.” The jerk had snuck up on her somehow. Maybe she was losing her edge in situational awareness. And Riley was way on the other side of the shop. Shepard would have to deal with the bulging-eyed toad on her own.

“Coming right up,” she said, setting the grinder on the machine furthest from him. Here she could half-turn her body while working and keep him in the corner of her eye.

“You really make a delightful cup,” he oozed, once the grind had finished. “I wonder... could I get your number?”

“Sorry,” Shepard replied, tamping and locking the handle in place. “I don’t date civilians.”

“Oh!” he said, starting back half a step, as if she had pushed him. “But I’m also in coffee,” he protested. “I manage a network of coffee vending machines. We are rather successful, in fact.” He seemed to be getting worked up. “I make it my business to know everything about coffee here.”

Shepard looked at him sceptically with a hand on her hip, but didn’t respond otherwise. He reeled back on his heels again, averting his eyes and blinking madly. “I apologise if I have caused offence,” he said. “But I find you enigmatic.”

Shepard cocked her head slightly to one side and exercised an eyebrow.

“Look at you!” he came forward and put his hands on the counter. “Surely you are a professional athlete? A weightlifter? So tall, so broad, such rough hands... and yet, your touch with the machine, so refined, such intuition! Your coffee this morning was merely good, but this afternoon, it was divine. But still so young! Your technique, so unorthodox, but performed with such flair and confidence, imagine what you could achieve with professional guidance!”

“This guy bothering you, LT?” asked Riley, who had snuck up behind him during his little speech.

“Please!” he cried, reaching over the counter for Shepard’s hand. She tensed suddenly, balling her hands into fists under his clammy touch, ready to lay him out. “I must have your number! I must!”

Riley dealt with him surprisingly gently. She hustled him out of the door with the minimum of fuss, always in front of him, advancing in little steps, anticipating his movements. She barely touched him, but he had no option but to retreat. Shepard admired how easy Riley made it look. She’d have solved the problem with a judicious application of violence, herself, and that would have led to no end of complications. 

Shepard pretended to be occupied as Riley came back in. “He’s not wrong, you know, LT,” said Riley in a low voice. She leant back on her elbows across the counter from Shepard, talking to her while keeping an eye on the seating area. “You’re a natural. Not just at this. Anything you touch.” Riley turned to fix Shepard with a glare. “You have any idea how annoying that is? For us grunts who have to work at it?”

Shepard turned away from Riley’s cold eyes, but then turned back. “What do you want from me?” she asked hotly. “I didn’t ask to get promoted.”

If Shepard hadn’t been so attuned to interpreting NCO moods from her days as a buck private, she might not have noticed the flicker of uncertainty that crossed Riley’s face. Then, abruptly, her eyes softened into a smile that Shepard hadn’t seen before, a sly thing that smoothed out her crow’s feet and relaxed the firm set of her jaw.

“You watched me making shit-can coffee with these fine antique machines,” Riley said. She crossed her arms and leaned as far as she could over the counter, balancing on her elbows. “But you didn’t correct me. I could feel you holding back. Why?”

“I just... I didn’t think you’d appreciate it,” Shepard replied.

“This isn’t a damn girl’s club, Shepard, you can’t hurt my feelings by giving me good advice,” Riley said. “Do you not like it when I tell you what I think?”

“It’s fine,” said Shepard. “Except... it’s like there’s no space left for my opinion, once I hear yours. And...”

“Don’t make me beat it out of you, girl,” said Riley. 

Shepard narrowed her eyes. “See? Like that. You’re always putting me down. It’s like you think I can’t take a shit without your hand on my arm.”

Now it was Riley’s turn to look away thoughtfully, her brow wrinkling. When she turned her gaze back on Shepard, her guard was back up. “Guess I owe you an apology, LT,” she said quietly.

Shepard’s senses were suddenly at maximum alert. Riley was giving off an air of cold menace that was also new to her. Could she have read things wrong, somehow? She trod carefully. 

“I just mean, you’ve been making me uncomfortable, and I thought I knew why. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You think I’m pissed because you got a last-man-standing promotion,” said Riley flatly. 

Shepard nodded. 

“But I’m not. I’m pissed because you think you don’t deserve it.” Riley paused a beat. “Actually, I wasn’t even pissed. But I am, now. What the hell goes on in there?” She reached out and rapped her knuckles gently on Shepard’s pink cap.

Shepard looked down and fumbled with her dishrag. She swabbed the counter without any real purpose. “That’s between me and the psych board,” she said. “And they cleared me.”

She could feel Riley’s calculating eyes on her. She wouldn’t back down, not this time. 

“All right,” Riley said eventually. “Make me a coffee -- please -- and I’ll go first.”

The machine whirred and gurgled through a grind and filter cycle under Shepard’s expert control. She presented Riley with a steaming espresso. “Coffee up.”

Riley took a sniff of the heady vapour, and a delicate sip of the scorching fluid to wet her tongue. Shepard could see her shoulders dip as her upper body relaxed. “Fuck,” she mumbled ruefully, taking another sip. “OK. We were on this shit-hole planet, out in the Traverse. One of those places where everything bites, even the plants. Sealed suits twenty-four-seven, for weeks at a time.” She tossed back the rest of her coffee.

Shepard hadn’t been expecting war stories, but she wasn’t about to interrupt. Riley didn’t look like she’d take it well. 

“Obviously, even though this planet’ll kill you soon as look at you, we can’t let anyone else have it,” Riley continued. “Especially not Hegemony stooges pretending to be pirates, probing us for soft spots. Our intel isn’t too bad, so they don’t get the jump on us. But the planet isn’t cooperative and we get bogged down pretty quick. Still, we’re OK until they start the fires. Then we’re really in the shit. Captain orders us to flank the enemy. Across open ground. The only cover is shit that’s burning. We know it’s a damn fool move, but the Lieutenant has us just about convinced we’re going to make it until he eats a grenade.

“One of my corporals is this sweet, sweet girl from some hick colony. Not too bright, though. She volunteers her fire-team to cover our retreat. I figure she knows it’s suicide. I know it makes sense. But I hesitate, because she’s pretty.

“She takes one to the visor and I know we’re pretty fucked, now. So I ask for volunteers, but I’ve run out of dim bulbs. So I pick. We strap a shit-load of grenades on him and send him crawling through the burning shit to take out the field piece that has us pinned down.

“He makes a nice big crater about half-way there. Shrapnel blows through another of my guys. We beat it while the batarians are laughing their asses off. Another two of mine get taken down, but we make it out of range of that piece.

“And into the minefield.”

Shepard had been listening politely, then avidly, but she couldn’t stop a short bark of laughter from escaping her mouth. It didn’t sound like it was the first time Riley had told this story and her timing was meticulous. “Sorry,” she said.

Riley shrugged. “From there it’s just your typical cake-walk. One more bites it from a leaky seal. Plants got him. I lose one to a mine. A fucking monkey-thing attacks us and we pick up a nice leg wound from friendly fire. Batarian sniper picks off the girl right next to me and we have to crawl home, dragging our wounded. Three of us make it back in one piece, plus the leg guy, who loses it to some kind of super-fungus. Which spreads.

“We bug out the next day, thank fuck. The batarians can have that shit-hole. But it gets better. I buy my last two guys a round first chance I get. One of them drinks so fast he chokes. His buddy tries the Heimlich and ruptures his spleen. We don’t find out ‘til the next day, when he’s in septic shock. He doesn’t make it. His buddy has an accident a week later. Drunk and maudlin’ and too lazy to take the stairs.

“Board of inquiry gives me another fucking stripe and sends me to N-school. Remarkable tenacity in the face of extreme adversity. My ass. My unit wouldn’t have me back. Angel of fucking death.”

Riley looked like she needed something stronger than coffee. Shepard didn’t know quite what to say. As bad as Riley’s story had been, Akuze had been worse. The creatures boiling up from the churning ground, spitting acid, pulling marines down to choke in the dirt, her brothers, her sisters... she hadn’t survived because of any particular strength or because she wanted to more than anyone else. She’d just been lucky. But she couldn’t tell Riley any of that. She cleared her throat. “Fucking batarians,” she said. That seemed safe enough.

Riley frowned a little at that, though. “My point, Shepard, is that they don’t send anybody here who hasn’t seen some shit. They also don’t bump Lance-Corporals up to LT who don’t deserve it. So get that twisted modesty bull out of your head. You can pin a target at two klicks with a long gun, and I’ve seen you knock down some tough s.o.b.s in hand-to-hand. You run a hack like you’re ordering take-out. And you pick it all up faster than a newborn takes to titty.”

Shepard’s face glowed with shame under the assault of praise. She didn’t recognise the person Riley was describing. Sure, she was good at her job. She gave it everything she had. But Riley was making her out to be something that she wasn’t. 

“That’s not fair,” she protested. “I just got lucky. They didn’t... I mean, I shouldn’t...” She stopped and clenched her jaw, clamping down on the memories.

Riley rubbed at her face. She looked tired, as if the fallen weighed her down. Shepard thought she was finally seeing through to the real Riley, the one that was usually locked down under layers of cheery professionalism. She realised that she didn’t have a monopoly on feeling this way, alone and shredded by loss. And that maybe Riley was taking a chance too, opening up to her like this. She came forward to the counter and leaned her elbows on it. She took one of Riley’s hands gently, and wrapped her own around it as if to arm-wrestle. She squeezed gently.

“OK,” said Shepard. “I get it. I’m special.” 

She wasn’t sure if she believed it. But Riley clearly did. And maybe it was worth trying that feeling on for size. Seeing if self-confidence had anything to offer. It meant a lot to Riley, clearly.

“Damn right,” muttered Riley.

“One thing, though,” Shepard said. “Why do you always touch me?”

Riley’s cheeks coloured and she looked away, embarrassed, although her grip on Shepard’s hand tightened. When she looked back, her smile wasn’t the NCO’s fearful rictus or the sly superior grin, but a shy, hopeful thing. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to... get coffee with me sometime?”


End file.
